“It was founded by Garnette two years ago. I first heard of it from an old patient of mine who lives nearby. She was always raving about the ceremonies and begging me to go. I was called in to see her one Sunday evening just before the service began and she made me promise I’d attend it. I’ve been several times since. I am attracted by curious places and interested in — how shall I put it? — in the incalculable vagaries of human faith. Garnette’s doctrine of dramatised pantheism, if that’s what it is, amused and intrigued me. So did the man himself. Where he got the money to buy the place — it was originally a nonconformist clubroom, I think — and furnish it and keep it going, I’ve no idea. Probably it was done by subscription. Ogden is Grand Warden or something. Hell be able to tell you. It’s all very expensive, as you see. Garnette is the only priest and literally the ‘onlie begetter,’ the whole show in fact. He undoubtedly practices hypnotism and that, too, interests me. The service you saw to-night, Mr. Bathgate, is only held once a month and is their star turn. The Chosen Vessel — Miss Quayne on this occasion — has to do a month’s preparation, which means, I think, intensive instruction and private meditation with Garnette.”

“Odin and Frigga,” said Alleyn. “I begin to understand. Are you personally acquainted with any of the Initiates?”

“Ogden introduced himself to me some weeks ago and Garnette came and spoke to me the first evening I was here. On the look-out for new material, I suppose.”

“None of the others?”

“No. Ogden suggested I should ‘get acquainted,’ but” — he smiled — “I enjoy being an onlooker and I evaded it. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.”

“It’s all extremely suggestive and most useful. Thank you very much, Dr. Kasbek. I won’t keep you any longer. Dr. Curtis may want a word with you before you go. I’ll send him down here. You’ll be subpoenaed for the inquest of course.”

“Of course. Are you Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn?”

“Yes.”

“I remembered your face. I saw you at the Theodore Roberts Trial.”

“Oh, yes.”

“The case interested me. You see I’m an alienist.”

“Oh, yes,” said Alleyn again with his air of polite detachment.

“I was glad they brought in a verdict of insanity. Poor Roberts, I suppose in a case of that sort the police do not push for the — the other thing.”

“The police force is merely a machine. I must fly I’m afraid. Good night. Bathgate, will you let Dr. Kasbek out when he has spoken to Curtis?”

Alleyn returned to the top of the hall. The divisional surgeon joined Kasbek and the two doctors walked down the aisle with that consultation manner, heads together, faces very solemn, like small boys in conference. Nigel followed sheepishly at a tactful distance. The word cyanide floated at intervals down the aisle. At last Dr. Curtis said: “Yes. All right. Good night.” They shook hands. Nigel hurried up to wrestle with the elaborate bolts and lock that secured the double doors.

“Oh, thank you very much,” said Kasbek. “You’ve made yourself quite invaluable this evening, Mr. Bathgate.”

“To tell you the truth, sir,” said Nigel, “I am surprised at my own initiative. It was the smell that did it.”

“Oh, quite. I was just going to say no one must leave when you spoke up. Very glad of your support. Can you manage? Ah — that’s done it. I see there’s a constable outside. I hope he lets me out! Good night, Mr. Bathgate.”

CHAPTER V

A Priest and Two Acolytes

The constable had arrived with the mortuary-van. A stretcher was brought in. Nigel, not wishing to see again that terrible figure, hung back at the entrance, but after all, try as he would, he could not help watching. The group up in the chancel looked curiously theatrical. Alleyn had turned on all the side lamps but they were dull red and insignificant. The torch flickered confusedly. At one moment it threw down a strong glare, and at the next almost failed, so that the figures of the men continually started to life and seemed to move when actually they were still. Alleyn drew the brocaded satin away from the body and stood contemplating it. The body, still in its same contracted, headlong posture, looked as though some force had thrown it down with a sudden violence. Dr. Curtis said something. His voice sounded small and melancholy in the empty building. Nigel caught the words “rigor mortis— rapid.” Alleyn nodded and his shadow, starting up on the wall as the torch flared again, made a monstrous exaggeration of the gesture. They bent down and lifted the body on to the whitish strip of the stretcher. One of the men pulled a sheet up. Curtis spoke to them. They lifted the stretcher and came slowly down the aisle, black silhouettes now against the lighted chancel. They passed Nigel heavily and went out of the open door. The constable stayed in the entrance, so Nigel did not relock the doors. He returned to the chancel.

“I’m glad that part is over,” he said to Alleyn.

“What? Oh, the body.”

“You appear to be lost in the folds of your professional abstraction,” remarked Nigel tartly. “Pray, what are you going to do next?”

“Your style is an unconvincing mixture of George Moore and Lewis Carroll, my dear Bathgate. I am about to interview the ladies and gentleman. I dislike it very much. This is a beastly place. Why did you come to it?”

“I really can’t tell you. I was bored and I saw the sign swinging in the rain. I came in search of adventure.”

“And I suppose, with your habitual naïveté, you consider that you have found it. Fox, have you made your plan?”

“Not quite finished, sir, but I’ll carry on quietly.”

“Well, give an ear to the conversation. When we get to M. de Ravigne, you may like to conduct the examination in French.”

Fox smiled blandly. He had taken a course of gramophone lessons in French and now followed closely an intermediate course on the radio.

“I’m not quite up to it as yet, sir,” he said, “but I’d be glad to listen if you feel like doing it yourself.”

“Bless you, Fox, I should make a complete ass of myself. Got your prints, Bailey?”

“I’ve been over the ground,” said Detective-Sergeant Bailey guardedly.

“Then call in the first witness. Find out if any of them are particularly anxious to get away, and I’ll take them in order of urgency.”

“Very good, sir.”

Bailey, with an air of mulish indifference, disappeared through the altar door. In a moment he came back.

“Gentleman just fainted,” he grumbled.

“Oh, Lord!” apostrophised Alleyn. “Have a look, will you, Curtis? Which is it, Bailey?”

“One of those affairs in purple shirts, the dark one.”

“My oath,” said Alleyn.

Dr. Curtis uttered a brief, “Tsss!” and disappeared. Bailey emerged with Father Garnette.

“I’m extremely sorry to have kept you waiting, sir,” said Alleyn, “but you will understand that there were several matters to deal with. Shall we go down into the chairs there?”

Garnette inclined his head and led the way. He seated himself unhurriedly and hid his hands in his wide sleeves. Fox, all bland detachment, strolled to a near-by pew and seemed to be absorbed in his sketch-plan of the chancel and sanctuary. Nigel, at a glance from Alleyn joined Inspector Fox and took out his notebook. A shorthand report of the interviews would do no harm. Father Garnette did not so much as glance at Nigel and Fox. Alleyn pulled forward a large faldstool and sat on it with his back to the flickering torch. The priest and the policeman regarded each other steadily.

“I am appalled,” said Father Garnette loudly. His voice was mellifluous and impossibly sorrowful. “Ap-PALL-ed.”

“Unpleasant business, isn’t it?” remarked Alleyn.

“I am bewildered. I do not understand as yet, what has happened. What unseen power has struck down this dear soul in the very moment of spiritual ecstasah?”